Tag Archives: Summer

Japanese word for cloud

The Japanese word for cloud is kumo.
{It also means spider but that’s another poem.}

Home FieldCanadian summer
is short
but sweeter
for the shortness.
We spent
golden days
driving in
pried wide open
in Ontario,
by pioneer ancestors
just off the boat from
potato famines,
in Alberta
land claimed
and cleared
by their fierce
homesteading cousins.

cloud lake louiseOver vast spaces
sculpted by nature
and snatched from ancient forests
hung rolling fields of clouds.

cloudBanffIn Tokyo
and her surrounding cities
(the names of which
sounded to me
not so long ago
like tire companies
and motorcycles)
clouds are served
in slivers
on blue platters.
Cloud shavings
fall sideways
between columns
of gleaming glass
and concrete.

cloud coke signClouds
over Tokyo
revise themselves,
turn sky-sakura,
impermanent blossoms
transform this city,
home to more
than all of Canada.

cloud sakuraOver these cities
cloud formations
and shift
once more.
I wonder
if this is the world
re-setting itself.
Try again.

cloud yoko bldgTruly, Madly, Deeply,
a British film
for romantics
and people
who now find
themselves old.
A language teacher
and her Latina student
walk through a park
naming what they see.
I see clouds.
in Spanish.


The Noticers

We are observers
DP and I.

I’m a noticer of emotions,
the clouds that pass over a person’s face
when remembering
a small slight,
some words left unsaid
or too many words
expressed in anger.

I notice shifts in relationships
the small sea changes
of our love-comings and goings

I notice when people are lying.

I love the way
the homes of our friends say,
“This is who we are
and what we love
and how we choose to live.”

I am a sucker for beauty
in all of its forms
and also for kindness.
{Are they not often the same thing?}

We both love people-watching.

In a square in Barcelona
children play football
with their grandfathers
and the friends of your parents
become your family.

At school
we notice which kids are artistic
and which ones have big hearts
and which ones need to be encouraged
more often.

We notice
each other,
what the other
wants and needs
which is no small thing
after all these years.

DP is a very special noticer.

He sees tail-fins of whales
in the Atlantic
where I see only waves.

He always spots
the item for which I’ve been searching
in a grocery store.

He detects patterns
where I see chaos.

He sees poetry and math
as partners.

He sees the structure of stories
as clearly as I see metaphor.

He notices people’s agendas
and he knows
in his bones
whom we should trust.

at the Red House
in Newfoundland,
he notices the small shifts
in the diamond sea,
the mackerel sky
and the fog that rolls in
like ghosts.

His photos are proof
of his noticing.
He sees life
and captures
slight changes,
tumultuous beauty
the way my father tells a joke.

With his lenses
he captures the world
like stars caught
behind clouds on a clear night
in Newfoundland.

{These photos of Pouch Cove, Newfoundland were taken in July 2012 by DP who used a Canon 7D.}